


A Love That Burns Like the Sun

by Jess_B_Fossil



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Boys In Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, Handholding, Kissing, M/M, Old Men In Love, Romance, breakfast yall, really it's just full of feels, sappy feelings, sylvix - Freeform, this is a birthday gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22624888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_B_Fossil/pseuds/Jess_B_Fossil
Summary: Their love burns like the sun, seemingly forever until it blinks out. The moments before a star's death are always the strongest though and the older they get, the more they love and love and love.It’s been a long time since Sylvain has drowned in the darkness that was space. Sylvix, Oneshot, Modern AU.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 86





	A Love That Burns Like the Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akhikosanada](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akhikosanada/gifts).



> So I was knocking around this idea for awhile and decided to finally pen it as a early Bday gift for Akhikosanada! She has no idea about it, SO SURPRISE.

**_A Love That Burns Like the Sun_ **

  
  
  


Sylvain’s waiting for his coffee to cool as he watches Felix flit back and forth, his chaotic energy filling the room as he readies for the morning. There’s a piece of toast in one hand and one leg in his trousers as the other tries to pull them over his hips. He trips in his haste, barely catching himself on the kitchen table. Sylvain doesn’t laugh, but he watches the familiar scene fondly, lips quirking into an amused smile as he settles into the hard wooden chair. 

The kitchen set is the only thing he’d taken from his parent’s and not because it was _theirs_ ; no, his grandmother had left it for them in her will-- _them,_ not _him_ \-- as one final _fuck you_ to his father and the way that he deals with _gay sons_. 

Of course, the words his father had used so many years ago had been _far_ more colorful-- _so_ colorful in fact that Sylvain’s grandmother had slapped his father across the back of the head before kicking _him_ out. 

“Felix,” Sylvain finally says, “Sit down for a moment. Have some coffee with me.”

Felix pauses. He’s finally shimmied his pants over his hips and there’s a bite out of his toast, his cheeks reddened with his haste. He snatches the food from his mouth to reply with, “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m already going to be late for work.” 

“So be late then,” Sylvain tells him with a shrug. 

“I _can’t--”_

“You’re the boss. You can do whatever you want.”

“My students, Sylvain,” Felix bites out. The words aren’t harsh, just punctuated and so very _Felix_ in their tone. He puts a lot of stock into the fencing school and Sylvain loves that about him, he _loves_ how much Felix loves his students. 

There’s a _but_ though, as there is with many things. 

“How often do we get mornings together, Fe? Just the two of us?” Perhaps it’s a low blow, but Sylvain’s never claimed to be a good person, and judging by the way Felix pauses, it’s worked. 

Felix drags a hand down his face, pulling at his skin tiredly. “Syl,” he sighs, eyeing the empty chair across from Sylvain. 

“We never had a moment alone, darling.” Sylvain’s lips practically curl around the endearment and he sees the tremble of Felix’s lips. He’s got a retort ready to throw at him, but to Sylvain’s surprise, he drops into the chair instead. 

“What’s another ten minutes?”

“Only ten?” Sylvain pouts at that, finally taking a sip of his coffee. 

“You’re pushing it,” Felix warns, but it’s all bark and no bite. He reaches for a mug and pours his own coffee, wrapping his fingers around it to warm them. _I only drink it black like my soul_ , he’d once joked, years and years ago. 

Felix had been wrong of course. If anyone had a soul as black as the night, it’d be Sylvain. He only showed his good parts to people, so practiced at wearing a false smile that fooled so easily. And even if it’s gotten better, even if it’s _changed_ over the years, Felix was the only one who’d _really_ ever seen him at his worst and maybe that’s why Sylvain loved him so, _so_ much. He’d seen him amidst those dark moments, pulled him from them without judgement and he’d never left. He was still there, face still cranky and annoyed as ever, but he was _still there._

“What?” Felix asks, vexed, and Sylvain realizes that he’d been staring. He’s always staring, really; was Felix just _now_ noticing?

“It’s nothing,” Sylvain promises, flashing him a thin smile and Felix narrows his eyes at him. 

“What’s wrong?” There’s a tinge of concern in his voice, just the tiniest bit and it makes Sylvain’s heart practically _ache_. 

“Fe, it’s-- No _really_ , there’s nothing wrong.”

“You were _staring_ ,” Felix tells him, concern bleeding into prickliness and as soon as it had come, the man’s worry is seemingly gone.

“Since when have I _not_ stared at you?” Sylvain replies smoothly. Honestly and earnestly, and Felix’s eyes widen slightly as he sputters before turning away to hide the pink dusting across his cheeks. “Flustered even now,” he continues to tease. “Fe, we’ve been married for nearly fifteen years.”

 _Fifteen years,_ Sylvain thinks. Incredible and astounding, everyday better than the one before because he gets to wake up with Felix by his side. Their love burns like the sun, seemingly forever until it blinks out. The moments before a star's death are always the strongest though and the older they get, the more they love and love and love. 

It’s been a long time since Sylvain has drowned in the darkness that was space. 

_“Idiot,”_ Felix mutters, sipping at his mug to stop himself from saying anything else. 

“Forever and always.”

There’s a long moment before Felix speaks. “I know you Sylvain. What were you thinking about?” The question is quiet and probing in its approach, but Felix isn’t trying to back him into a corner. He always allows Sylvain to bolt if he wishes. 

“Us,” Sylvain answers immediately. Felix blinks, opening his mouth to reply, but Sylvain raises a hand. “Goddess Fe, nothing bad. Just…” His words fail him as he fingers his mug, the warm ceramic a balm across his cold skin. “It hasn’t been easy for us,” he finally says, “But look at us now. I get to wake up with the morning and watch you trip over yourself as you get ready, every day.”

“How mundane,” Felix snorts, dropping his mug back to the table. “What a silly thing to enjoy.”

Waking up every morning next to the love of his life wasn’t something that Sylvain would have thought he’d have, twenty years ago, so he’ll take pleasure in the _most_ mundane of things. Even if it’s as simple as watching Felix trip into his pants, while shoveling breakfast into his mouth. 

“I enjoy you,” Sylvain tells him instead, reaching out to grasp at his hand. Felix doesn’t pull away and Sylvain rubs his thumb along the back of his hand. “Stay home today,” he asks. “Call in on your students. Cancel class and laze away the day with me. We can do nothing if you’d like, stuffing ourselves full of snack food and watching shitty romantic comedies. 

“Or we could go out, have a picnic or go to a museum. Whatever you want to do.”

“Insatiable,” Felix tells him, but it’s in jest, the closest to telling a joke that he ever comes to. 

“You say that like it’s a _problem_ ,” Sylvain counters, narrowing his eyes slightly and Felix returns the expression, his own amber eyes practically glowing at the implication. Impulsively, Sylvain places his mug down and reaches forward, grabbing Felix’s chair. He pulls him impossibly close, pressing his fingers into his shirt and pulling tightly-- 

“Sylvain, you’ll crinkle it--”

He yanks Felix close but doesn’t kiss him, only rubbing their noses in a childish show of affection that has Felix grumbling in response. 

_“Childish oaf,”_ Felix chastises, but Sylvain can tell by the hiccup in his breath that he’s not _unaffected_ and resists the urge to further tease him about it. The annoyed tone and burning peach across his nose is plenty enough.

“Have you forgotten what day it is?” Sylvain asks him quietly. 

Felix blinks, pulling back slightly to cock his head to the side. It’s not the first time that Sylvain’s remembered something small and silly, holding onto it until he can bring it up later. And really, he doesn’t expect Felix to remember, not really, because Sylvain is the one that’s overly sentimental. 

Felix hasn’t put his hair up yet, so Sylvain reaches up and tugs at one of the locks. “It’s the day you said yes.”

Felix looks confused, just like Sylvain knew he’d be. “I said yes in the middle of December,” Felix says seriously, as though he were concerned that Sylvain was _losing his damn mind_ . It’s a tone that he uses more often than Sylvain would like to admit. “I remember because you thought a midnight picnic would be romantic and all I got out of it was a boot full of _snow_.”

Sylvain frowns at that. “You got a _husband_ out of it.”

“No, I got a husband later on. I remember _that_ because you insisted on a private ceremony at the beach and I spent the entire day with sand in my--” 

“It’s the day that you said yes,” Sylvain repeats, pressing his lips to Felix’s cheek in a chaste peck. 

“That’s what you said earlier--”

“I’m not talking about the proposal.” Sylvain is quiet when he leans back a little, moving his hand to cup Felix’s cheek instead, thumbing the soft skin and the hard line of his jaw. “I’m talking about--”

“Oh,” Felix breathes. _“Oh.”_

The night that they never mention, the one where Sylvain spiraled into a drunken panic full of self loathing and regret. The one where an ex-girlfriend dumped a drink all over his lap at the mere sight of him at a club, causing Sylvain to bolt like a coltish fawn before anyone could see the tears of hatred for himself. The night where Sylvain cried and cried and cried, screaming that there was _no one_ , that he’d be _forever_ alone because the one person he actually loved wouldn’t give him the light of day. 

The one where Felix grabbed him harshly by the face, pressing their foreheads together and calling him a fool. Where Felix said fucking _yes_ and it was the beginning of the end, but a good change, the _best change._

Felix doesn’t like to talk about the night. He’s always been one part embarrassed, one part ashamed about his actions years prior to it, but Sylvain loves that night. He loves that night almost as much as he loves the man before him. 

Felix reaches out to grasp Sylvain’s hand gently, squeezing it as he leans forward, pressing their foreheads together like that night so long ago. Sylvain closes his eyes, willing himself to take deep breaths, feeling Felix’s presence before him and soaking it in, taking in the fresh clean soap scent his face. It anchors him, Felix anchors him, he’s always been Sylvain’s roots, ever since they were literally children. 

It’s a love that was born with their meeting, carefully crafted over their lifetime until it’s flared into _this_ , into whatever they _were_ , and Sylvain wouldn’t trade the world for Felix. 

“I still wonder if you’ll ever settle down,” Sylvain asks fondly. “Every morning is a whirlwind for you.”

“Buffoon,” Felix breathes against him. “Dim-witted fool. I’m here, aren’t I? If that’s not settling down, then I don’t know what is, because only a _moron_ would settle for you.” Sylvain hums at that, smiling into Felix’s hold. 

Sylvain pulls back and Felix kisses him, slow and calculated, intent on pulling everything from Sylvain that he can. It’s not like Felix, but Sylvain likes it, he’s into it, he pulls him closer and responds in kind. 

“I guess I can play hooky,” Felix murmurs against Sylvain’s lips, fingers reaching up to thread through his hair and scratching at his scalp lightly. “Whatever you want to do,” he finishes. 

“I just want to enjoy breakfast with you everyday, forever.”

Felix’s face hardens into annoyance and Sylvain laughs. “Sap,” Felix complains. “Sentimental _dolt.”_ But he doesn’t let go of Sylvain either, fingers still laced together as he reaches for his coffee. The sip he takes is a clear distraction. 

Sylvain smiles at him, watching Felix like he’s the sun, squeezing his hand lightly once and then twice. Felix glances back, mug held close to his face as his lips contort into a near snarl. All bark, never any bite; not with Sylvain at least. 

But Felix squeezes back and Sylvain files it away, for a rainy day. 

Not that he’ll ever need it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Have questions? A burning need for answers? Have a story idea? Just want to talk Sylvix? Don't forget to check out my [Tumblr](https://missmarquin.tumblr.com/), and drop an ask!
> 
> Also, follow me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BaldFossil)


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